


Things Unseen

by NightValeian



Series: Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-27 23:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21127385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightValeian/pseuds/NightValeian
Summary: Aziraphale honestly didn't think his time in Hell had affected him that much.He was wrong.





	Things Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've decided to try out some prompts for Whumptober this year! 
> 
> Never done it before, kind of nervous; hope I'm doing it right.

It wasn't real. 

It wasn't  _ real. _

Part of Aziraphale knew the sight in front of him wasn't real, that it was all in his head, but the other part dared to ask:

What if it  _ was _ real? 

He'd thought he'd escaped Hell relatively unscathed; taking a bath in Holy Water and being on the receiving end of some harsh words were hardly the worst possible thing he could have gone through. Crowley had gone to Heaven to endure  _ Archangels _ and  _ Hellfire _ . That was a lot more terrifying in Aziraphale's opinion.

But in the end they'd both survived with no injuries, barely hesitating before signing the lease on a cozy little cottage in South Downs and leaving London as fast as the Bentley could take them.

For a while, everything was fine. 

Aziraphale moved in his books, Crowley started his garden, they had each other and that was all they needed.

So it hit him like a freight train; the anxiety, the fear, the sour stench of sulfur and sharp undertone of Holy Water, the clamoring of jeering demons overwhelming all off his senses–but all he could focus on was the black button-up draped over the side of a claw footed bathtub. 

Not just any black button-up: a familiar, well worn and well loved one, one that had made its home on the torso of a very familiar red haired demon for months now. 

He was in Hell, surrounded by demons, staring at a shirt that was missing its owner. 

If Crowley's shirt was here, then where was  _ he?  _

Aziraphale's eyes flickered between the shirt, the Holy Water in the tub, then back to the shirt again.

If Crowley's shirt was  _ here _ in a bathtub of Holy Water, then where…

Where…

_ No, no, no… _ !

"C-Crowley?" The tiniest whisper of the name leaving his lips.

Over the noise of shouting demons, a new sound registered; a pained, wretched whine that shifted into the beginning of a wail as if someone were teetering on the edge of completely shattering. 

" _ Crowley!" _

There were suddenly hands on his shoulders, tugging him away from the bathtub, away from the discarded shirt, and the noise became louder as he tried to pull away from the hands, reaching desperately for the shirt, not ready to leave what was left of him. 

"Let go, let  _ go!"  _

"...gel!"

The hands moved from his shoulders to instead wind around his waist, holding him firm and fast as he lunged towards the bathtub again. Aziraphale's knees went weak when the fight suddenly left him, the noise reaching full volume as he collapsed back into the person holding him, dragging them both down onto cool tile floor. 

Cool...tile...floor? In Hell? 

"Shh… Shh…"

The noise began to die down, no longer piercing and ringing in his ears, but instead a soft whimper that seemed to be coming from his  _ own _ throat which was now aching. 

Had he been screaming? 

"That's it, angel...Come back to me…"

Aziraphale blinked and suddenly, he wasn't in Hell anymore. He was in a bathroom,  _ their _ bathroom in South Downs, propped up against another body on the floor as tremors wracked his entire body. His hands shook as he slowly placed them on the arms around him, running along black clad arms and taking in black painted fingernails. 

"C...Crowley…?"

The arms tightened around him just a fraction before he felt a gentle press of lips to his shoulder. 

"I'm here. You're safe."

Aziraphale lifted a still trembling hand to reach just behind his shoulder, fingers finding skin, lips, and eventually the rim of a pair of sunglasses. The angel sagged back into the demon's chest, a sob ripping itself from his lips as the relief washed over him. 

Crowley was  _ alive. _

"Oh,  _ Crowley." _

"I know, I know. I've got you."

Aziraphale didn't know how long they sat there while he sobbed, but what he  _ did _ know was that Crowley sat with him the entire time, pressing reassuring kiss after kiss anywhere his lips could reach, the hold of his arms never faltering. 

When the tears finally began to slow, Aziraphale turned in Crowley’s arms to face him, wanting to see his face and not have to look at the source of his anxieties for a second longer. The demon’s lips were twisted into a frown, yellow eyes still obscured by his sunglasses until Aziraphale reached up, taking the edges between his fingers and removed them from his face. 

"Scared the Heaven out of me, angel…" Crowley murmured, moving a hand to the back of the angel’s head and bringing him forward until he could press his lips firmly to his forehead. "Ran in from the bedroom as fast as I could when I heard you  _ screaming _ ."

"I came in here to start running the water and I saw your shirt on the rim of the bathtub and…" Aziraphale took a shaky breath as a few stray tears spilled from his eyes. "A-And you weren't in it and–and  _ Lord,  _ Crowley, I was so  _ frightened _ –"

"You thought you were back in Hell. That they had...taken me from you." Aziraphale nodded mutely and Crowley sighed, now cradling the angel’s face in his palms, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. "Oh,  _ angel… _ "

"I-I'm alright, really. Just a little rattled. It's silly, really. I just wanted to surprise you with a nice bath, I picked up some new scented oil in town today, and got some roses." He sniffled and Crowley brushed more tears away gently. 

"It was all going to be quite romantic, I even dug up an old bottle of that wine you loved from Rome, you know, from Nero's collection? I was saving it for...something special one day." 

"It's just...the tub." The angel managed a smile, though it was weak, forced, trying to make Crowley feel better because the idea was just ridiculous, especially since it had ruined the evening he had planned. "Hell has one just like it. Isn't that funny?"

Crowley wasn't laughing and Aziraphale hadn't expected him to.

“Not really funny, no.” Crowley released his face and wound one arm around his waist once more, free hand cradling the back of his head and easing him close until Aziraphale was completely pressed against him. “Not funny at all.” 

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck and buried his face into the space between his neck and shoulder, inhaling the scent that could only be described as  _ Crowley _ , allowing it to wash over him and further settle his nerves. 

“Perhaps we should get a new bathtub…”

“Probably a good idea. We can talk about it more tomorrow.” The demon pressed one last kiss to the side of his head and loosened his hold. “For now, let’s get you out of this room.”

They moved slowly; Crowley keeping a hand on Aziraphale at all times because the angel was rather reluctant to let go, the risk of Crowley being a dream too great of a fear, that he was still there, in  _ Hell _ , suffering in his own mind. The demon eased him up, an arm tight around his waist to keep him tucked to his side as they made their way out of the bathroom. 

Crowley didn’t let go of his waist until they had made it downstairs to the living room, wrapping Aziraphale up in a blanket and seating him ever so gently on the couch. Even though he was physically safe and sound, Crowley continued to hover close by, kneeling in front of the angel and running his thumb across the back of the hand clutched tightly in his own as a reassurance that he was there, that he had no plans of going anywhere without him. 

“I’ll make you some cocoa, alright? Do you want your book?”

Aziraphale shook his head, smiling weakly, squeezing the demon’s hand in return.

“Will you just...sit with me? For a little bit? I don't want to let go.”

Unsaid yet understood:

_ I'm afraid to let go.  _

“Of course, angel. Whatever you want.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I chose a handful of prompts to do instead of the full 31 because I just didn't have the time to do all of them.
> 
> I have three other fics for Whumptober that I'll post before the end of the month for your enjoyment. They'll be out of order, but...I hope you like them nevertheless. 
> 
> What did you think?  
Comments make my day :)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr!](https://mollymauk-teakwood.tumblr.com/)


End file.
